


You Are God

by TimmyJaybird



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Do not read this if you are not caught up on season 2, Gun play, M/M, slight dub-con, slight scar play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 04:47:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1455937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place during Episode 207, "Yakimono".</p><p>Will doesn't need Hannibal to know exactly how this will end- even if he asks. With the gun hot in his hand and his own skull a new and foreign realm, Will only needs Hannibal to know who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are God

**Author's Note:**

> I promised a rewrite of the scene. I hope it holds up!
> 
> (Also, wow, first thing written based on season 2 I do believe!)

The clink of his keys on the counter echoed through the sleeping house, ricocheting inside his skull as Hannibal lifted a wine glass, gripping at his refrigerator door handle, feeling cold metal beneath his warm palm. He inhaled, deeply, a fatigued sigh- then paused, an overbearingly spiced scent creeping into his sinuses, resting along his tongue. A scent he knew.

“The same unfortunate aftershave.” As he turned Will stepped forward, rocking on his feet from the inky shadows, face set in a grim yet placid mask. “Too long in the bottle,” Hannibal offered, a smile crossing his face, tugging at the corners of his mouth, up to the very corners of his eyes- not quite into the iris but farther up than a smile had traveled in quite some time. He tugged on the door, the offer of a drink on his tongue- it would be good to see Will with a glass in hand, color in his pallid cheeks from wine again. It would be good to see the way his body relaxed, see the tension ebb in a way that Hannibal was sure he could imitate- could pull the tension from Will’s body with skilled fingers if the man would simply let him close enough.

Face stoic and stone, Will said nothing, slowly raising his arms. The gun clutched in his hands pointed directly at Hannibal, and the man’s smile fell away, replaced be a look of discomfort- a hint of dismay, disappointment. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Our last kitchen conversation was interrupted.” Hannibal saw Will behind his open eyes, frantic and sweet smelling to the point of the air growing heady, twitching from his fingers to his eyes. The Will before him stood so still he could have been sculpted from marble- left in Hannibal’s kitchen as a marker of beauty. “By Jack Crawford.” Will’s tongue darted out, flicked at his own teeth. “I’d like to pick up where we left off. If memory serves, you were asking me...if it would feel good to kill you.”

“You’ve given that some thought.” Hannibal knew Will had, even without the moment being dragged up from memory. Beneath layers of clothing, he could feel his forearms throb, once, twice, scars still red and pink, still far from healed. He knew _very well_ Will had contemplated how killing him would feel.

“You wanted me to embrace my nature doctor, I’m just following the urges I kept down for so long. Cultivating them as the inspirations they are.” The words were poetry, sweet and thick, and Hannibal wanted to taste them, taste them on Will’s lips and tongue and inside his throat. He’d waited so long to see Will bloom, to see those claws take their proper hold and burst up through his skin, pepper his back with brilliantly black thorns. He’d waited so long to see the divine creature Will truly had the potential to be-

Yet he still had not been braced to be the target of eyes so stormy it was hard to picture the blue that had flecked them when Will Graham smiled.

“You never answered my question,” Hannibal reminded him, turned fully towards him, trying to mask the awe at the sight his Will was, at the ache that lay in his gut because _Will had come with a purpose_. Will held Hannibal’s stare, eyes unwavering- something Hannibal had wanted and needed for so long, and yet felt overtaken by. “How would killing me make you feel?”

“Righteous,” Will said, voice a near hiss, as he raised the gun level. Hannibal moved back quickly, a human reaction in an inhuman man, and Will’s breath huffed out of him- in excitement, anticipation, a plethora of emotions that had no name nor face except that of the darks of Will’s eyes.

“Aren’t you curious Will? Why you? Why Miriam Lass? What does the Chesapeake Ripper want with you?” Hannibal’s voice had an urgency to it, one Will did not miss, his pupils large, sucking down the sight of Hannibal unnerved. His blood was hammering in his veins, his temples, mirroring an ache without the pain. Will’s skull felt two sizes too small for his brain, but all he felt was _pressure_.

“Oh, you tell me,” he whispered, and had their bodies been closer, had Will’s hold on the gun been a hold onto Hannibal’s himself, it could have been intimate. Hannibal regarded him, silent, and the gun was lowered for a brief moment, before Will steadied himself again. Something inside him unraveling, hot and yet cold, burning and freezing his belly and lungs. “How did Miriam Lass find you? You made sure no one could find you that way again.”

Hannibal swallowed, a delicate pull at his throat that Will watched, his tongue flicking out over his lips in response. He’d wanted to feel that beneath his mouth, once. Then beneath his closing hand, cutting off Hannibal’s oxygen, and watching those burgundy eyes go wide, to turning to pure pupils and brilliant whites as his mind began to shut down. “If I’m not the Ripper, you murder an innocent man. You, better than anyone, know what it’s like to be wrongly accused.” Hannibal set his wine glass down on the counter, the _clink_ a grounding sound, reminding him that he had to sink his fingers back into Will’s mind. He had to find the control he had lost and clutch it once more, before Will became something so beyond the realm of contemplation and control that he was lost to Hannibal. “You were innocent and no one saw it.”

“No I’m not innocent. You saw to that.” Hannibal’s scars throbbed again, mirroring a throb at the base of his spine- a mix of anxiety and unease all wrapped around arousal at seeing Will- _his Will_ \- so beautifully undone yet in control.

“If I am the Ripper and you kill me who will answer your questions?” Hannibal watched Will breathe, the slight rise and fall of his shoulders, and held his hands, palm up, giving a gentle shrug. _It was the truth_. “Don’t you want to know how this ends?”

Hannibal could hear each of Will’s breaths, almost like small laughs leaking out from his lungs, as his mouth slowly twitched, the corners turning, and for a moment he was _smiling_ , and Hannibal thought perhaps he had gone it, had broken into his skull once more. Then, in one fluid motion, Will raised the gun with one hand and closed in, Hannibal jerking back out of reaction, his fridge door nearly closing with the motion as he turned his head. Will pulled the hammer down and Hannibal closed his eyes, turned away, in that moment smelling the bullets hidden away in the small handgun, smelling Will’s awful aftershave and the heat in his blood that mirrored his own.

Hannibal swallowed, silent resignation, and Will watched the motion and again wanted to feel it. He held steady, studying Hannibal, his pale eyelashes, the draw of his lips, and then took one final step closer, pressing the muzzle of the gun to Hannibal’s temple. “Open your eyes.” He swallowed, waiting, and Hannibal did, glancing at him with colors like rich wine, and Will felt his breath catch. The turned the gun, pressing the barrel along Hannibal’s cheek, running it down along fine bone and tantalizing skin. “You got inside my head,” he whispered, “It’s only fair I return the favor.”

He dragged the barrel along Hannibal’s mouth, then reached out with his free hand, grabbed Hannibal’s chin almost painfully and turned him, so he could stare directly at him. The gun nudged at his lips, and Hannibal felt a coil of disgust in his belly, dissipating quickly into something like curiosity because this was _Will_ \- and how far would he take this sordid sort of act.

Hannibal’s lips opened, and the barrel pressed into his mouth, forcing his tongue down into his jaw. Hannibal huffed a breath around it, and Will released his hold on his chin, hand seeking and finding his throat, wrapping loosely around it. He felt muscles contracting beneath his palm and fingers, the bob of Hannibal’s Adam’s apple, and he closed, holding tighter- so that Hannibal could breath, but at any moment Will could take that from him.

He wanted to take it from him. He wanted to take _everything_ from him.

Will inhaled, then clutched and tugged down. Hannibal dropped down to his knees as the gun was pulled from his mouth, as Will released his throat.

“Open,” he said, arm dropping down, and Hannibal opened his mouth, Will’s voice almost unrecognizable as it seemed to echo through out the cold kitchen. The gun was returned, leaving a tangy, unsavory taste in Hannibal’s mouth. He fought down a shiver, feeling the weight of Will’s eyes, smelling the heady scent of arousal and fascination in the air as Will’s free hand absentmindedly ran down his stomach, toying at the hem of his pants. “How does it feel?” he nearly hissed, a twitch in his lip, “How does it feel to taken down a notch from god?”

Hannibal said nothing, felt a tremble that this time he couldn’t suppress, as the gun was shoved deeper. He was painfully aware of Will’s finger, still on the trigger. Any moment, and his skull could shatter. He stared up, and Will palmed himself, hissing out a breath between his teeth. The air crackled as he popped the button on his pants, as his hand slipped inside, teased through the thin fabric of his underwear. Hannibal pressed his tongue against the barrel of the gun, a reaction, something so human once again, at the possibility of having Will aroused and _so close_.

He wanted him- but not like this. Not with a broken leash, a torn collar. Not so far from his grasp.

Will was half hard when he pulled himself free, and his strokes brought that final thrust of life to his cock. Hannibal flicked his eyes to his length, then back up, and Will had a smirk at the corner of his mouth- ugly and heinous and perfect all in one brief moment. “You know,” he mused, “once, I might have liked the idea of your hand, right. Here.” He tugged, tilted his head back for a moment as he exhaled, before he returned his gave to Hannibal. Hannibal stiffened, and Will chuckled, almost gravely, rumbling form his chest. “I knew you’d like that. You spend enough time in a _cage_ and you get the chance to reevaluate every word that has been said to you. Every touch ever given.”

His breathing was escalating, and Hannibal’s hands were twitching at his sides. Just as suddenly as he had begun, Will stopped, pulling the gun from Hannibal’s mouth, motion with the wet muzzle to his jacket, his hand nearly still on his cock. “Off.”

Hannibal shrugged it off, let the coat pool around him. Will gave a nod, and his jacket followed. He seemed to ponder Hannibal, before his tongue darted out over his lips.

“Let me see them.”

Will didn’t need to specify. Hannibal opened the cuffs of his sleeves, his hands having a slight tremble, and began rolling them up. Will’s hand tightened around his cock, anticipating, and when Hannibal held out his arms, hands palm up, his breath choked in his throat. The scars were puckered, risen, still pinks and angry reds, not yet healed. Still so close to fresh that Will was sure he could suck them open.

“Get up.”

Hannibal stood, glancing at Will, then away again, and Will reached out, grabbed him by his throat, jerked his head so that Hannibal would hold up one arm, bearing the scars of Will’s own making. Will dipped his head down, flicked his tongue along one, felt Hannibal’s intake of breath, and dared to run his tongue along the ridged skin. It tasted like salt, like perfection, like his own creation given breath through his extended hands. Will’s hold on the gun loosened, it was held uselessly at his side, yet Hannibal did not dare to more, even as Will closed his mouth over the scar and sucked, threatened to part skin. His hissed at the sting, felt Will’s hand tighten around his throat, swallowed and Will mewled into his skin over the movement.

Will tore away, released his hold on Hannibal’s throat in favor of grabbing him by his shoulder, and thrust him against the counter, so his belly press to its lip. He moved behind him, reaching around and fumbling with the fastenings of his pants, and a cold heaviness rested at the base of Hannibal’s spine.

“Will-“

“Don’t,” Will hissed, forcing Hannibal’s pants down his thighs. “You don’t get to say my name. Not unless I tell you to.” He pushed Hannibal’s vest and shirt up, pressed the muzzle of the gun against his spine. “Tell me, Hannibal. How is this going to end?”

Hannibal swallowed as Will hooked his fingers in his underwear, tugging them down as well, leaning over him so he could press into the curve of his ass, his cock still free and pressing hot and sweet against flesh. Hannibal exhaled- this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Will was supposed to come willingly, he was supposed to squirm and beg beneath Hannibal’s hands. He was supposed to be a worshiper.

He was not supposed to play god.

Hannibal’s silence didn’t sit with Will how he desired, and his free hand reached out, cupped Hannibal’s cock and fondled him. The older man sighed, pushing towards the touch, heard a _tsk_ behind him.

“You want so much,” Will whispered, “that’s how you fell, you know that right? You wanted and that drove you into your inevitable plunge from the divine.” He pulled his hand away, and the muzzle of the gun traveled along Hannibal’s spine, down to the cleft of his ass and for a moment his breath dried into nothing but dust in his lungs. But then it was moved up, just barely, and it was not the threat of that cold death that parted his flesh but two of Will’s fingers- sucked into his mouth- that pressed their way into Hannibal’s body with little ceremony. Hannibal shuddered, pulled away, and Will pressed him painfully to the counter, so his chest lay atop it, his lungs feeling crushed. “Let me open you up, Hannibal,” Will breathed, “Let me open your body, like you opened me _mind_.”

He thrust his fingers, the ache of the stretch mingling with the slight burn of friction, and Hannibal was half hard despite it, because it was Will but it was _not as it should be_. Will removed his fingers, then returned, slick again, this time with a third. Hannibal gave a startled cry, and Will inhaled it in the air like the man’s cologne and grinned to himself.

When his fingers were removed, there was a pause, Hannibal’s breath held inside his ribs, as the gun traveled up, then down his spine, before it _clanked_ onto the counter and Will was grabbing a handful of flesh, his other hand steadying his cock and he pushed into Hannibal’s tight body with no reserve. Hannibal bit at his lip, fought to keep himself composed, but then he gave a broken sound, ripped from his belly, and Will dug his nails into his ass.

“Let the pain ground you,” Will whispered, leaning over him, fully inside and feeling Hannibal’s body nearly trembling around him. “It’s four thirty seven PM. Your name is Hannibal Lecter, and you’re in Baltimore Maryland.” He pulled back, then pushed into him, and Hannibal gave another strangled cry. “And who are you with?”

“Will G-Graham,” Hannibal forced out, only to get another sharp thrust, purposefully aimed away from his prostate to leave him burning.

“Did I tell you to say my name?” Hannibal shook his head. Will set his mouth into a tight line, pushed back into Hannibal, slightly slower, this time hitting the sweet spot inside him that made him tremble, his cock twitch. Will released his old on Hannibal’s ass, reached around his body- his other hand clutching at the lip of the counter- wrapped his fist around Hannibal’s cock and stroked, feeling him coming quickly to life. “Mmm, I knew you would like this, _Dr. Lecter_. But then, you were the one trying to get me to embrace my... _potential_.” Will punctuated with word with a sharp thrust, earned himself a mewl from Hannibal and a thick drop of pre-cum running over his knuckles. “Do you know what my potential was?” Hannibal gave him no answer, but pushed back against his thrust, making Will’s belly tighten. “I know what my potential _was_ , now that I have seen it, wrapped my hands around its throat.”

He twisted his fist around the head of Hannibal’s cock and the man groaned, torn between pushing into that first or back onto Will’s cock. The burn was there, but dull, and the ache was turning to a buzzing pleasure through out his limbs. Not at all how it should be, but yet Hannibal couldn’t tear away- there was something so utterly appealing about Will as he was. There was something terrifying- and that terror was desire once it hit Hannibal’s blood.

“My potential,” Will continued, pushing harder, faster into Hannibal, “ _was you_.” He let go of the counter, reached his arm up and pressed his fingers to Hannibal’s lips, demanded and was given entry. Hannibal sucked on them, moaned around them, as Will tipped his head down, glasses slipping along his nose. “My potential was _God_.”

Hannibal was shaking, his body being thrown nearly over the edge with each thrust. His cock ached, throbbed, was leaking along Will’s hand and yet he was pushing back onto the man’s cock, his only thought to be opened up by Will, to be filled with him-

As he had filled his skull.

Hannibal was panting, in time with Will’s own rushed breathes. He writhed, his teeth grazing Will’s fingers, and was given an exceptionally sharp thrust. He shuddered, and Will gritted his teeth, wanted to flip the man over and suck along his scars, but didn’t dare leave him empty long enough for that. Not yet, not before his own seed had been planted- it was only fair, to repay the debt he owed Hannibal for the metamorphosis he had facilitated within Will.

Will thrust harder, with abandon, reserves gone, forgotten to a man who had looked at Hannibal with admiration, saw him as a clutch, his only anchor to a world that was real. Now, now Will crafted his own reality, and in this moment in involved Hannibal held wide open for him. He shoved deeper, and in that moment Hannibal gave a whimper- so utterly broken around his fingers that Will plunged down into the white abyss, allowed his seed to fill Hannibal’s body as his muscles convulsed, as Hannibal clutched him and responded to the filling heat with his own orgasm, Will’s hand milking him utterly dry.

Will pulled out, watched as his semen made a pearly trail down Hannibal’s thigh. He pulled his fingers from his mouth and leaned back, taking a moment to tuck himself away before grabbing Hannibal and flipping him over, so the counter dug into the small of his back. Will grabbed his wrists, held them tightly, felt the beginning of his scars against his palms.

“Tell me who I am,” Will whispered, and Hannibal held his gaze, yet said nothing. His eyes were dark, turning with the aftermath of orgasm but not glossy. Hannibal was there, inside his head, and Will _knew_ he had liked it. “Not how you imagined it, Dr. Lecter?” He leaned closer, mouthed at Hannibal’s jawline, releasing his wrists so as to rub along his scars. “I imagine you always thought you’d fill my body, just like you filled my mind? Lovely, how fate takes us and turns our desires inside out, presents us with a deformed reality that we have no say in accepting. It is simply... _thrust_ upon us.” Hannibal made a small sound, and Will took that moment to kiss him, to devour his lips with his own eager mouth, tongue and teeth, sucking on his lower lip and then pressing his tongue into the man’s mouth. Hannibal gave, because there was nothing left to take- Will had nothing within him now that Hannibal could touch.

Hannibal kissed him back, betrayed his own near stoic mask he had fashioned so well over the years and was eager, despite the sheer _wrongness_ of this play. He had been given the wrong lines, placed stage left, not center, and Will had taken up his place with booming voice and clarity that the man had never had before. Will’s mouth had a perfect taste to it- it was exactly how Hannibal had imagined. Perhaps that hurt more than Will’s whisper.

The younger man spoke in a breath, nearly silent as he licked at Hannibal’s mouth. “I loved you.” It wasn’t broken, not a whimper, not the kind of phrase Will Graham would have spoken once. Now it was a cold, simple _fact_ , but facts were useful, and he knew how to slip them under Hannibal’s fingernails like Bamboo. Hannibal’s stomach went cold, and Will pulled back, staring with those eyes such a dark grey they seemed black.

Hannibal had drunk down the blue like sea water. He has pissed it away like wasted rain. He had brought this beast up from the dredges of Will’s very being, but in doing so had decimated the possibility of both worlds he had craved. And as Will stared at him now, the realization sat cold in his gut.

“Who am I?” Will asked, releasing one arm and grabbing his gun again, pointing it directly at Hannibal, while the thumb of his other hand traced up along one of Hannibal’s scars.

Will was perfection. Will was damnation. Will was the possibility of friendship and love and trust. Will Graham was everything, and as he stood here, he was something _beyond_ even that. He had achieved a level higher than Hannibal, had forced him from his throne and sat upon it himself, to reign in silence with black eyes thorns of antlers that clawed up from his spine and spread out like the inky black wings he had _earned_.

In one huffed breath, Hannibal held that gaze, and pulled every bit of Will he had ever desired so far into him that they were lost in the heat of his very blood. Almost silently, he murmured, “You are God.”


End file.
